Caged

Caged

Lucien Virell POV

I paced my chambers restlessly. This silence was maddening. No whispers. No Raelith. No Vaela. No comfort in the chaos. I should’ve felt triumphant. Six successful turnings. Six new vampire wolf hybrids, each one seething with rage and hunger, already tearing through the sanctuary to prove their worth. Except mine. Mine still fought me.

But none of them were her. Vaela. My treasure. My perfect creation. I closed my eyes and nearly reached for the bond that no longer existed. A hollow ache echoed through my chest, carved by her death. She was my chaos, my wicked star. And now she was just... gone.

I turned and looked at the silver cage in the center of my chamber angrily, my eyes flashing. I couldn't deny she was beautiful.

Her auburn waves spilled over her bruised shoulders as she crouched in the far corner, breathing hard. Her eyes, golden brown and defiant, glared at me like she wanted to rip my throat out with just a thought.

Even drugged, even turned, even mine....she still fucking fought. I smirked at her, fangs showing.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” I murmured, voice low as I approached the bars. “But gods, you’re beautiful.”

Her wolf was awake now too. I could feel her clawing behind the girl’s soul, thrashing like a beast caged in glass. They hadn’t spoken once. I didn't even know her fucking name.

The girl's curves made my thoughts darken. Her large breasts strained against the ruined tunic, perky and perfect. Her curvaceous hips... her thick thighs... the gods made her to tempt devils. I admired her from head to toe, just imagining what I could do with her.

She hissed again, and I laughed, tipping her chin up through the bars. “You’ll break eventually. And when you do... I’ll mold you into something more glorious than even Vaela.”

A lie. No one would ever be Vaela. But this one... this one had the fire to burn whole cities if I pointed her in the right direction. I stalked from the cage and paced the chamber.

The Lock knelt before me in a loose half circle, their turned wolves behind them, each newly sired hybrid twitching from the lingering sickness of transition. Valira was already training hers with cruel precision. Damael had his chained by the throat, whispering ancient chants. Ezekiel... fuck knows what he was doing.

“We need more,” I snarled. “More wolves. More cultists. We’ll need hundreds to fuel the next spell.”

My chosen stopped screaming to stare at me. She was watching me now, quiet and calculating. I ignored her.

Kareth stepped forward, blood dripping from his claws. “The willing are drying up. Too many know what we are now. The villages run before we get there.”

“Then compel them,” I roared, voice breaking the air like a crack of thunder. “Use every trick we know. Lie. Charm. Take their children if you must.”

The Lock remained still as they nodded and bowed. Raelith’s absence burned. I clawed at my own chest, fury festering. Her silence was a void I couldn't fill. She was in Elowen now, she had said. But that wasn’t enough. I wanted her here. Tangible. Whole.

And until she returned, I would build an army that would blacken the fucking skies. I turned back to the cage, grinning wickedly at my chosen. "I'll have you to myself soon enough, my pet."

She just stared at me and snarled. Feral, beautiful thing that she was.

Noctara Velmira POV

The silver burns don't hurt as much anymore. That’s the part that terrifies me.

The first few hours, I screamed until my throat split open. The scent of my own seared flesh made me gag, but I didn’t stop thrashing. I wanted to feel it. I needed the pain to remind me I was still real. Still me. But now… I’ve been in this cage so long, I barely flinch when the silver bites.

He thinks he’s breaking me. Lucien fucking Virell. I spit his name in my thoughts like poison.

He plucked me off the battlefield like some shiny new weapon. Said I was special. Said I was strong. That I’d make a perfect addition to his little fucking nightmare army. Then he threw me in here, naked, bleeding, starving, and called it “preparation.” I call it what it is: control.

“Let him believe he’s winning,” Lynthra murmurs inside me, her voice low and primal, more beast than breath. “He’s already lost. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

My wolf is the only thing keeping me sane. She's not just my other half, she’s the fire under my ribs, the anchor in my madness. When they turned us, bled us dry, then shoved that vampire filth down our throats....I thought we were done. But Lynthra clawed through the black, whispering promises of survival while my blood boiled and my bones shattered.

And now… now I wait. I count his steps. I trace the patterns on the stone. I whisper my parents' names like a spell, Mira and Kyren Velmira, royal guards of the Stormclaw Pack. Murdered in the forest by the Hollow Creed while I hid under their dying bodies.

I was five. I still remember my mother’s fingers twitching as her blood soaked the moss. That was the last time I felt safe.

After that, it was rogue packs and rot. Men with hungry eyes. Women with cruel hands. Feral ranks. Cold nights. Hunger like a ghost. I learned to sharpen my claws in the dark. Learned not to ask for help. Learned that no one fucking comes.

And then I heard whispers of her name. Elowen Skye Thorne.

Chosen. Goddess touched. Child of the Moon. All these fancy fucking titles. Stories whispered around campfires like she was some kind of savior. A symbol. A prophecy.

Do you know what it feels like to realize someone else got the life you were born for?

Because I do. She got the goddess. The mates. The crown. I got the fucking cage. “She is not your enemy,” Lynthra says, but there’s a hesitance in her growl. Even she isn’t sure. “But we’ll decide that once we see her.”

I dig my nails into my palms until they bleed. I don’t hate her, but I want to. It would make everything easier. But under the rage is something worse. Something I don’t say out loud.

I’m jealous. Not because she’s powerful. But because she belongs. People chose her. They fight for her. Die for her.

No one’s ever chosen me. “I chose you,” Lynthra reminds me, and I bite back a sob.

The silence is loud here now. Raelith’s voice is gone, silenced by divine wrath, apparently, and Lucien’s unraveling without her whispers. He paces more. Talks to himself. Stares at me like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. Last night, he tried to touch me.

I bit him. Hard. He laughed. Then he threw me into this reinforced silver cage and whispered, “You’ll thank me one day, little wolf.”

I won’t. The moment my body stops twitching from the burns, the second this venom stops humming under my skin, I’m getting out of this fucking dungeon. And I will run. Not from fear....but from fire.

I will find Elowen. And I’ll tell her everything. What he’s doing. What he’s planning. How many wolves he’s twisted. I don’t know if she’ll believe me. I don’t even know if she’ll trust me.

But I don’t care. Because maybe, just maybe...if I help her stop him…I’ll finally matter.

“You already do,” Lynthra says, her voice thick with emotion I don’t have the strength to feel. My fingers tremble as I reach toward the bars again. I let the silver bite. Let it sing through me.

Not as punishment. But as a promise. I am Noctara fucking Velmira.

And I will not die in a cage.